Feanaro's End
by Moringotho-in-Angamando
Summary: The Dagor-nuin-Giliath from the eyes of Tyelkormo.


Point of view of Celegorm. The Dagor-nuin-Giliath.

* * *

This Middle-earth is weird, was my dominant thought and realisation for quite a while now. There were pluses and minuses, but generally it was just weird.

There were new rivers, new forests, new mountain ranges, and new plains to explore and to conquer. There were new animals to be hunted, and new materials out of which tools and weapons could be made. There were new peoples that we could meet, and new activities to do.

And this novelty would make our lives harder. We had to improvise on social structure and job distribution, on strategics and weapons, and on details of everyday life, from breeding our animals to finding the best timber. It was a lot more work than I would have thought possible.

But it was worth it! We would no longer be "kept safe" by the jealous Valar, or powerlessly suspecting Morgoth. We would get to rule ourselves and our people how we would please, and be free of any constraints of higher powers, who were not that powerful when it came to actually doing anything. We would defeat Morgoth quickly and then reign in might and glory for millennia to come!

Or so I thought twenty years ago. Since then much has happened to convince me otherwise. Yes, there was much new and unexplored in this land. But it was too much to cope with. The new hardships were too hard, and the new evil too evil to deal with quickly and easily - that much I realised after the first month of our stay.

We have betrayed Nolofinwë's people and burned the ships. We have seen the Light fail. We have sworn the Oath that seemed more dangerous and constraining by the minute. And before we came here, we convinced ourselves that it was alright. That it was worth the new beginning, we had thought. And we were more wrong than we could have imagined.

It was colder here than it had been in the West, and a new beginning was a lot harder than we could ever expect. We had to map the geography, something that we still were behind at, and find supplies, and distribute the work forces in an effective way. Yet Atar dealt with it reasonably well, given the circumstances, and our settlement was thriving during the first two weeks. We began building housing for all of our people and beasts; we began to cultivate the land; we sent out scouts to explore the places that we would soon claim. We even began our plans to make war upon the Enemy. But in that, as in everything else, as it seems, he was ahead of us.

We were attacked two weeks after we came to Endorë, when we were nowhere near prepared, suddenly and by numberless enemies. Atar had the time to say a few words of inspiration, and then we were fighting like never before: without a shadow of doubt or pity, striving only to kill, to bring death. The Tyelkormo of Valinor would have shuddered at such a thought alone; Turkafinwë Feanarion of this Age laughed as he wielded his sword.

Before long we were winning and the Orcs losing. We pushed them back for leagues upon leagues. There seemed to be some madness in our very blood, pounding in our veins and telling us to go on, to kill, to bring justice to the Enemy who brought about the death of Finwe and of the Trees and who had stolen the Silmarilli. After a while, that adrenaline receded enough for me to think reasonably again. Battle was still raging around me, but not as fiercely as before: several small groups of Orcs being beaten to the dust with ease by larger groups of Noldor. Most of our enemies have fled or lay dead at our feet.

I looked around. Makalaure and Carnistir were likewise resting, their swords down and their faces red. Ambarussa came up to me and cast his arm around my shoulders as we watched Curufinwë and Maitimo fight with an easy grace. Maitimo in particular seemed to be dancing and not battling as he held a sword in each hand, graceful as a Irisse in one of her dances.

What was my cousin doing in my head anyways? She was gone, she was a memory of a life that would never come back. Nothing more. Besides, she was a half-cousin. I forced my thoughts back to the present, looking back up to the battle.

Slaying the his two opponents and helping Curufinwë dispose of the last Orc, my elder brother came up to me, shouting for everyone to rally around. After several minutes of panting from my brothers and the warriors, he announced. "Atar must have went ahead. We should see if he requires our assistance. The battle may not have ended there yet."

One of the most amazing, and at times most frustrating, things about Maitimo is that he always seems to think about the larger picture or to be a step or two ahead of your own logic. It is amazing when he is on your side of a conflict, but terrifying if he is trying to convince you to believe his point. And it is just maddening how effortlessly he does it, how coolly he retorts to your heated and weak arguments. How with several words and an arched eyebrow he can prove your point wrong.

This time he was one my side, and I had to agree with him. Atar would never admit it, but even he would need help if he were to battle several hundred Orcs with a group of fifteen to twenty-five Noldor.

As we jogged north, sounds of battle became more apparent. Maitimo was in the lead with Curufinwë, followed closely by me and Carnistir, with the warriors and the rest of my brothers somewhere behind us. I was not at all nervous when we set out, but Maitimo and Curufinwë were nervous enough for ten of me, and I ended up following them with a fluttering heart, not looking back at those who followed me. Was Atar in danger indeed?

We were marching through the foothills of the mountains, Maitimo several steps ahead of Curufinwë, who was a few steps ahead of me. By then I was not only nervous but also tired, and my thoughts were drifting. Suddenly Maitimo shouted, and I nearly walked into Curufinwë, who stopped in his tracks, staring ahead, his jaw hanging open.

A moment later, I saw why.

In front of us was a great clearance. The grass was stomped out there, and the ground was hard and dry. It was surrounded by the mountains, with only several pathways in its walls, one of which we were standing in.

But it was not the peculiar structure of this place that caught my eye, for all of it faded in comparison to a much more noticeable effect: the whole clearing was alight with fire, or so it seemed at first glance. The red and orange of the flames lit the scene unfolding in front of us in an eery way.

Upon closer observation, one could see that the flames were actually the forms of great beasts, ones that we had never seen before. They were tall, taller than any Elda that I have seen, and made of fire, and they wielded swords and whips which were alight with the same light.

After the shock passed, which took a few moments, I noticed lesser details: the forms of the Balrogs, the more precise structures of their bodies, and, to my great dismay, a pile of something in a faraway corner - something that was, as I realised, Elven bodies.

And then I saw it, the sight that made my blood go cold. For in the midst of the six or seven beasts stood a figure that I would recognize anywhere: the proud figure of Curufinwë Feanáro, my father.

* * *

A/N: I was planning this as part of my story "Why, Maitimo?" but then, as I wrote it, I found that it had very little to do with it. So I post it separately instead. I had to write this in many different snippets due to time limits, so please tell me of any inconsistencies!


End file.
